A Sharp Mind, A Frail Body
by GoodPhin
Summary: Helen feels all alone, and only one thing seems to make life worthwhile... until it seems bound to destroy her... Simple Plan involved...
1. Chapter 1

I hate to look at myself in the mirror. It just ruins my day. I hate it. I hate it. I hate it. Kind of like how I hate myself. I loathe myself with a passion. Why? Because I am a filthy coward. I can't end my life. I cut myself just to watch myself bleed. It's beautiful. Sharp pain then release. I watch the blood trickle down, slowly at first then gaining momentum. 

No one knows. I wouldn't dare tell anyone. I have no one to talk to. I'm not a very amiable person, despite my extensive vocabulary. Right now, I'm sitting in the car with my mother, trying to block her out. She pretends to understand, but really she can't. She never had herself as a role model. 

"Helen," she says, "I'm not going to let you throw your life away, whether you like it or not!" Typical mom. She doesn't give a damn about how I feel, just about what happens to me later. She can't see that I need to be able to breathe. To have some space, to make my own mistakes, not learn from hers. I can't. 

We just pulled up to the house, where her latest boyfriend is probably waiting, with all of his six-inch attitude. 

As I get out of the car, he opens the door and comes to stand out on the porch. He looks down on me, a beer in hand. "What the _fuck_ are you wearing?" I don't want to dignify that with an answer, but 16 years of living with my mother kick in. 

"Go fuck yourself, asshole." I reply, nonchalantly and try and get by him. He grabs me by the wrist and yanks me hard towards him. 

"What did you say to me, you worthless bitch?" 

"Say that again to my face, scumbag." 

"Worthless. Bitch." 

Infuriated, I begin to struggle like a mad woman. I hit him with my free hand, and attempt to kick at him. He just chuckles in his idiot redneck way, holding me at a safe distance. 

"Is that all you got?" he taunts, enjoying himself immensely. 

"Richard?" my mother said trying to tame him. 

At that moment, I bit his wrist, and kicked him in the shin. Finally able to dislodge myself from his iron grip, I break into a run, not wanting him to see my tears. I can't let him know that he's won. 

I finally arrive at the small park near my house, consisting basically of a swing-set, a slide, a bench and an empty wading pool. I plop down on the bench, put my head in my hands, and burst into tears, ignoring all that's around me. 

As I cry, I look down and see the four scars on my wrist, making me hate myself more. As the desire to cut myself rises, my tears slowly abate, then cease. I'm now filled with terrible resolution. I sit up, and wipe the tears away from my eyes. 

Two teenagers are skateboarding in the drained kiddy pool pretending to ignore me, but I catch one of them looking in my direction, so I shrug at him. He picks up his skateboard, and heads towards me. I notice how hesitant he is, so I pat the bench next to me. After a few moments, he says "Are you alright?". I give him an unflinching coldhearted stare, and say "Does that answer your question?" 

I get up. Enough of this bullshit, I need to find some privacy and a sharp object. Anything will do really, though I do favor my compass. He asks something resembling "where are you going?" But I pretend not to hear and keep walking. Soon I find myself back at my house, climbing the tree in the backyard, and entering my room through the window. 

There, I sit down on the bed, trying to put off the sweet sensation of my bleeding flesh. Finally I can't take it anymore, the temptation it too strong. I get up and make sure the door is locked, and sure enough it is. I rummage through my bag, looking for my lighter and compass. 

After much cursing, I finally find both, at the bottom of my bag, as usual. I take my item of small-scale destruction, and pass the flame on the tip, for disinfecting. I smile grimly to myself when I thought of how ironic it would be if I died of tetanus. 

Done with the preparations, I slowly approach the compass to my skin, biting my lip in expectation. The end rests on my skin, barely touching, teasing me. I press down abruptly and drag the point two inches down my wrist as flashes of heat and cold erupt throughout my body. 

I look at it and watch the blood swell, as my heart pounds with excitement. The first drop begins to form, if I'm not careful, I could lose this precious liquid. I rapidly approach the empty glass by the side of my bed, and watch as I let the blood drip into it. 

All of my senses are on hyper-alert. I feel alive for the first time all day. I'm invigorated? Then the cut starts to close up. The blood flow stops. And I'm left alone and unfeeling once again. 


	2. Chapter 2

I open my eyes, panicking. I don't remember having gone to sleep. I see that I'm alone in my room. The glass I left now had dried blood in the bottom, indicating I must have been asleep for quite some time.

By the darkness in the room, I can tell that it's about 9 o'clock at night, the remaining glimmer of the sunset still lingers on my walls. I get out of bed, and stretch. My room is a mess, but I don't care. In fact, I treasure it this way. It is proof of the fact that I have some control over my life.

I'm hungry, but I ignore it. I'll eat after my mom and Dick go to bed. For now, I'll just sneak out of the house, and keep myself entertained for the next couple hours. I grab my studded bracelet, and put it on my left wrist, to hide all evidence of my actions. 

I climb down my tree, and decide to head for the same park as before, who knows, perhaps skater boy is there? Skater boy. Ha. Well I don't do ballet, so maybe this will end up alright. I arrive there. Not a soul to be seen.

I sit down on the bench, and try to think positive thoughts, which as usual gets me giggling. Don't get me wrong, I'm not laughing, because I'm happy. I'm laughing at myself, not with myself, if you follow me.

I'm tired of sitting here, I'm about to head back, just for the sake of having a purpose, when I hear the sound of skateboards rolling across dented pavement.

The skateboarders turn the corner, this time, there are three of them. Fortunately, the one who came to talk to me before hand, was one of them. In the distance, he looks up and sees me, and he says something to his companions, because they look at me.

As they approach, I great them with a little wave, and a sarcastic look. His two friends act like they didn't see me, and begin to skateboard. Him, on the other hand, approaches me, with caution, but nonetheless, he seems concerned.

"Are you going to get up and run away if I sit down next to you?" He inquires. This time I notice a slight accent, he's not an anglophone.

I shrug and reply "No guaranties." 

"Names Pierre." He says, and looks at me expectantly.

"Helen." I reply.

"So" He continues, attempting to get a conversation going.

"So" I reply, caring but not wanting him to think so.

Abruptly, he seems to change his mind about me, for worse or better I'm not certain.

"Why were you crying earlier?" His two friends give up their pretense of not listening and come a sit down on their skateboards, intrigued by me.

"My mom's a bitch and her boyfriend's a cocky sad excuse for a human being."

Their eyes grow wide, and they look every where but at me, after a couple of seconds, one of the two on the ground says to me "How can you talk about your mom like that?"

I smiled, finally a reaction out of them other then pity, a real emotion this time: disgust. 

"I'm not saying she doesn't love me, or that she doesn't try. She's just not a nice person. She's worried about how my future will affect hernot me."

Pierre shakes his head, he can't understand me. Neither does the one who so blatantly rejected me. Only the quiet one seems like he might understand.

"What about you?" I ask of him.

He looks up at me, but doesn't respond. He seems to be waiting for me to say something more. I try and stare him down, but he stares at me with equal intensity. For once, I'm the one to back down.

Pierre, uncomfortable with the awkward situation, decides I need to be properly introduced.

"Helen, this is Chuck, you probably remember him from before, and the silent one, is my best friend, David."

Chuck does a little wave at me, and David nod's his head in greeting and perhaps even acceptance. Chuck even adds an "I like your style." comment. I look down at my torn baggy jeans, my bright blue suspenders, and my black MxPx sweatshirt and shrug.

Pierre notices my studded bracelet, and asks to see it. Reluctantly I take it off, and pray that none of them notice the scars or scabs there. Pierre tries my bracelet on and Chuck looks at the inch long spikes with envy.

David on the other hand, notices. Of course one of them had to, it's just my luck. He looks away from my wrist, and up at me. We share a moment, a strange connection. He still doesn't speak a word to me. But he doesn't reveal the information he just obtained to his friends. He then pulls up the sleeve of his own sweatshirt, just enough for me notice his own scars.

Pierre returns the bracelet, and I restore it to its rightful place. I stand up and say "This time, I won't run, but I gotta go."

To everyone's great surprise David stands up and says, "I'll come with." The first words I've heard him speak. He too has a faint accent, quite attractive to the ear.

With out another word, we begin to walk out of the park. We're silent all the way to the front of my house. When I slow to a stop, he looks at me expectantly, after a couple seconds of hesitation, he says "If ever you want to talk sometime, I can give you my number."

I can't help myself I laugh. I think he's injured, because he looks away from me, but I hastily explain myself, for some strange reason I don't want him to think badly of me.

"I do want to talk, it's just that's the second thing you've said to me since we met!"

Relieved, he smiles then adds "You can speak with more then words." He then pulls out a pen. I pull up my right sleeve revealing my flawless skin. He hastily rights his phone number, then replaces my clothing, as if my bare flesh makes him nervous.

He calls a quick "Good bye." and leaves taking long strides.

I shake my head at him as he leaves, he's one strange kid. I sigh and head towards my room, thinking about what I could steal from the fridge. I climb the tree, and enter my room as I customarily do. But this time I don't pay attention to my surroundings, so by the time I get into my room it's too late.

Dick is standing in my room rummaging through my things, tossing stuff on the ground and kicking it around. My mother, isn't even trying to stop him, she's leaning on the doorframe, a cigarette in hand, a cheap nightgown wrapped around her. As soon as I make my abrupt entrance, Dick throws the lighter at me.

"Where are the drugs?" He inquires, menacingly

"What drugs?" I reply innocently

"Don't give me this bullshit, where are they?"

As I try and maneuver myself between Dick and the glass containing my dried blood, my mother finally tries to come to my aid, please note my sarcasm.

"Don't you give us that crap, we know you've been doing something up here, and now we finally know what."

"Listen," I begin.

"Don't you dare say another word." Dick adds.

"Or else what?" I say taunting him.

"Do you want me to hurt you? Is that it? Are you some masochist bastard who wants to be punished? Let me tell you, I've got my belt on right now, and just one more peep out of you, and you'll regret it."

"Get the fuck out of my room!" I yell. "I won't have you treating my like garbage in here!"

"This is MY house"

"NO! It's not yours it belongs to my mother and me. No one else! You're nothing but the entertainment of the week!"

As I speak those words, I realize that he's going to feel that he has a duty to fulfil. His arm reaches back, for momentum and I watch it swing in slow motion, then approach my face. The impact jarred through me, I cry out, the pain becomes more and more acute, as he stands there glaring at me. 

"Serves you right." He says and stalks out of the room.

"Fucking troglodyte." I mutter under my breath, as my mother approaches me.

She inspects my face, and lightly touches the newly battered area that has already started to swell.

"Ill go see if we have any steak." She says as she walks out of the room.

My appetite completely gone, I spread out on my bed, and shut my eyes, searching for the sweet release of sleep.


	3. Chapter 3

My stomach growls, and I open my eyes only to rapidly close them to shield them from the sun. I'm hungry. More slowly this time I open my eyes, and I cast a shadow with my arm. Groggily, I rub my eyes, to get rid of the sleep dust, and to rise myself a little more.

I turn onto my side, and face my nightstand. There a strange gooey substance awaits me. I back up away from it rapidly and come into a sitting position. I look at it more clearly, and laugh at my momentary stupidity. It's the steak my mom brought me last night, after I fell asleep. 

By now, it's letting out kind a repellent odor and I decide not to touch it. I grab myself a bathrobe, and head for the bathroom. As I cross the hall to get there, I notice the clock: 6:05. Muttering to myself about reasonable hours to wake up, I close the door, lock it, and undress.

I get in the tub, and turn on the shower, cursing when the cold water hits my bare skin. As the water heats up, I increase the intensity of the blast, I turn away from the shower rod, and let the tepid water run down my neck and shoulders in slow rivulets. 

I reach for the soap, and lather it with my hands, and then I spread the foam over my body, only exposing one body-part at a time, and rinsing as I go along. Finished, I place the soap back where it belongs and get the shampoo. I pour the liquid into my hands, and then massage it gently into my hair. I "rinse and repeat", then regretfully turn of the water, and climb out.

I attempt to dry my shoulder length unnaturally black hair. I then give up, and towel the rest of my body to a near dry state. I place my towel on the curtain rod, and turn to pick up my robe. While I do so, I make the mistake of looking at myself in the mirror. 

And here I was, thinking that today might be a good day. As usual, I was wrong. I examine my body, much to my own disgust, then hastily look away, and erase all traces of the image of my body from my brain.

I wrap my bathrobe tightly around me, and place the clothes I'd been wearing for just under twenty-four hours in the laundry basket. I take the small hand mirror in my left hand. It's small enough to let me see just my eyes, it allows me to put on industrial quantities of black makeup without hating myself to much.

I put the mirror back down, and I look through the small shelf above the toilet to find my eyeliner. I place it on the counter next to the sink before using the facilities. My urine evacuated, I wipe myself of remaining refuse, and replace my robe. I pick up the small mirror once more and apply the makeup above and below my eyelids. 

Satisfied with my mournful look, I proceed to stare at my bare feet as I pass a comb through my ensnarled hair. My job complete, I replace everything just as it had been before, not wanting any one to notice my use of the bathroom.

I quietly head down the hall to the kitchen, where I forage for food. My job complete, I head back to my room with a banana, two muffins, and a glass of milk. Almost every food group. All she needed now was a nice steak That reminds me of the rotting flesh I have by my bed.

  
I enter the room, and clear a space on my desk by tossing everything that's on it on the floor. I put down my breakfast, and proceed to pick up the meat with a old shirt that was lying around. I then toss it out the window, excepting some animal to want it. To my great surprise, I hear a yelp and a curse.

I rush to window, and see Pierre looking up at me in disgust.

"We aren't in the goddamned middle ages any more!!!"

I can't help but laugh as he kicks at the meat with the tip of his big shoes. I call down a "Just a sec." and I look around for appropriate attire. I take off my robe, and pull on my blue plaid boxers, a sports bra, and my gray "You don't know me, you just wish you did" shirt that I had made myself with the help of a black marker.

I find my jean skirt amid some junk on the floor. I put it on, complete with red suspenders. I've been looking for those for quite some time. I pull on a pair of red and black checkered knee socks, and last but not least, my red Converse Chuck Taylors. My all-time favorite shoes.

I grab a backpack, and pile all my food in. I gulp down the milk, and set down the glass, next to the other. I grab at a five I have lying on my desk, and put on my studded bracelet. I look around my room one more time, then out my window and down at Pierre.

"Don't look up my skirt, I'm coming down"

"Obediently, he looks down at his shoes, to my great surprise.

I reach the bottom, and he looks up at me, startled.

"That was fast."

I shrug, and lead him away from the house, and on to the street, I don't want my mom to hear us. Suddenly I realized he had no reason to know where I live. I turn to him and point an accusing finger at him.

"How did you know where I live?"

He blushes, which I find very endearing. He smiles shyly at me then says, "I asked David."

I smile indulgently at him, happy that some one would want to know where I lived.

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We continue our way down the street, and we automatically turn into the park. We sit down on the single bench, and I pull out the food. Though I'm incredibly hungry, I find myself offering him some. He shakes his head, and stares out at the rest of the park frowning a bit. He looks incredibly cute with that little pout of his.

I scarf down my food, then find him looking at me strangely.

"I'm hungry." I say with my mouth full.

He smiles and pats me on the arm, but he leaves his hand there, I look from my arm to him, and back. He then releases me with reluctance.

"So what's up?" I inquire, and look at my shoes, what a dumb question to ask!

"I was wondering do you think you'd go to the movies with me some time?"

"Are you asking me out?"

Pierre remains silent and joins me in a shoe-staring contest.

"Sure, I'd love to." I add.

He looks at me hastily. Then noticing my sincerity grins with triumph. I roll my eyes, he doesn't have to be so smug about it. 

"I don't have to miss next time I toss a stake out the window"

He laughed, then said "Why idid/i you throw it at me?"

I tell him that my mother played a practical joke on me for leaving in the middle of a fight yesterday. I only feel partially guilty, his good humor makes up for my lies. As we continue to joke, and tease, I feel more and more comfortable in his presence. He makes me feel good. 

I finish eating, my second muffin, and he looks at me curiously. Slowly, he reaches with his left hand to scrape away some crumbs I had on the corner of my lips. He leans closer to me, I close my eyes, and he brushes my lips with his own.

He tugs gently at my lower lip and I can't help but smile. I open my eyes as he pulls away, and we look at each other for long seconds, absorbing every detail. He has beautiful brown eyes, I notice, flecked with gold. They resemble to pools of water in the middle an enchanted forest.

I giggle at that thought, and look away he takes my hand in his own. A look at him, for once I don't feel oh so confident about myself, and how I appear to others. He quietly says "Did you just giggle?" and raises an eyebrow. "Wow you must really like me" he gives me his smug grin again.

"Shut up." I say and smile, as I tug at the strings that tighten the hood of his sweatshirt. He grabs my hand in his, and brings it to his lips. He then puts his other arm around me, holding me close. I sigh, contented and lean against him. We look at the empty park and enjoy each other's company.

Abruptly, his watch begins to emit a shrill alarm. Startled, I flinch and he fiddles with his watch.

"I usually wake up at this time." He explains.

"What time iis/i it?"

"8 o'clock, I should probably go, my parents don't know that I'm hereI sneaked out"

I nod my head, understanding why he has to go, but not agreeing with his departure. I close my eyes once more, as he gives me a quick peck on the lips, hoping for more. Noticing my chagrined look as he did not deepen the kiss, he smiled self-importantly.

Angry at my typically teen-age reaction, I shove him off the bench, causing him to stumble but to regain his balance. I suggest to him that he get my phone number from his best friend, and he walks off hurriedly. Before he is out of earshot, I manage to call out "Better watch out, never know when a steak might come and hit you!" He laughed, audible even from this distance, and he turned the corner.

Finding myself alone, I begin the trek back to my house yet again, hoping this time that no unpleasant surprises will great me there.


	4. Chapter 4

I sneak through the lawn, avoiding the meat, which to my great surprise is still there. I look around to make sure no one is watching, and I climb up the tree, and pop into my room. To my great relief, everything remains undisturbed. 

I put down my back, kick off my shoes, and plunk down on my bed. There, I land face to face, with the two dirty glasses I left there. Repulsed, I get up and take them to the kitchen where I wash them as soundlessly as I can. Just as I finish washing the bloodied one, I hear someone clear their throat behind me.

I spin around, and see Dick, staring at me with a sarcastic glint in his eye.

"A little early to do dishes don't you think?"

I put down, the glass down on a towel to dry, and shrug. "You're right, sorry about that. It won't happen again!" I say rapidly.

I'm so cowardly. Fuck It. I back away slowly, and leave the room. He watches me leave, a smirk on his face. I arrive at my room, unharmed for once. I let out a sigh of relief, and notice that my lock is broken. Damn, he must have busted it when he came into my room, yesterday.

I lean my chair up against the door, so that the door is virtually steadfast. I figure it must be 8:15, nonetheless, I decide to call David. I have the unbearable urge to cut myself while on the phone with him, to see if he'll notice.

I prepare my compass, then reach for my phone. I look at the faded numbers on my arm, and manage to dial the number. After 4 rings, a groggy voice says "Allô?". (=Hello)

"Er David, S'il vous plait?" (Er David, please?)

"Ouais, c'est moi." (Yeah it's me.)

"Ben, c'est Helen on c'est rencontré hier tu m'as donné ton numéro" (Well, this is Helen we met yesterday you gave me your number)

"Good Morning Helen give me a sec?"

I hear him place the phone down with a clunk. After a couple seconds, he's back.

"Sorry about that."

"Sorry to call you so early"

He yawned, and replied, "That's ok why'd you call?"

"Well I kissed Pierre this morning he asked me out and I thought you should know cause it's freaking me out. I'd never been kissed before."

As I await his reply, I press down rapidly with the edge of my compass and drag it across my skin, I try and control my breath, because exhilaration is coursing through my body. He says something resembling "Well then, glad you made ithat/i clearare you always this blunt, or is fucking early?"

I'm only half listening, so I reply rapidly, hoping he'll say more. "Both." He chuckles and begins another sentence. He says something about Pierre, but I can't focus on what he's saying.

I laugh absentmindedly. I pierce my skin again and this time the blood swells almost instantly this time, I can't control my reactions. I lay on my bed and close my eyes, taking rapid breaths. Will he notice? I don't know. I hear nothing but silence on the other end.

"So" I say, "are you always this talkative in the morning? I must admit it's quite a shock to hear you talking."

I place the cut to my wrist, and suck on my blood. The metallic taste fills my mouth, and I sigh in contentment. Suddenly, I think of something.

"Why did you switch to English?"

"What?"

"When I told you who I was, you switched to English."

"Force of habit I guess."

Suddenly, I hear a crashing noise on the other end of the phone, a "Fuck!" from quite a distance and then a scratching noise. After a couple of moments of silence, I hear him breathing on the other end.

"What the hell happened?"

"I tripped on the phone cord and fell."

"So you're lucky that Pierre likes you back. I wasn't so successful but Chuck is bisexual so yeah."

"Did you just say you're gay?"

He sighs, and then chuckles quietly.

"Now that I'm talking, you're not listening."

"Sorry, must have been distracted" 

"It's ok listen, wanna come over? My parents are away so we'd have privacy"

"Sure."

"Great."

He tells me his address, as I write it on my arm, under his phone number.

"So I'll see you soon?"

"Yup, should be there in 10."

"Great, later."

He hung up rather abruptly. Wow that was weird. He didn't notice though or maybe he did. That was incredible I'd never felt a rush like it. Would I be able to emulate it again? 

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Disclaimer: See Chapter 1. 

Man, I ireally/i have to stop writing and reading fanfiction I just watched "The Fast And The Furious", and the whole time, I was reading WAY to deep into things. For example, I was convinced that the asshole guy (can't remember his name) wasn't mad because Paul Walker wanted the girl but of the attention that Vin Diesel, his boyfriend, was giving the newcomer know what I mean?

I decide this time to do things the proper way. I put my shoes back on, and go down the hall to where Dick is eating breakfast. I lean on one of the yellow chairs around the kitchen table. He looks at me, and wipes at his face with a napkin. 

"Is it alright if I go to a friends house?"

"A friend, huh?"

"Yeah."

"Didn't know you had any friends."

I just shrug and stare down at the chair, I won't let him make me fuck this up, I'll remain polite. I'll remain polite. After a couple of seconds, he takes a sip of his coffee.

"Sure, be back by super time. Your mother's making us a special diner."

"Ok."

I hurry towards the door, before he can think of a reason to stop me.

"Have fun." He calls sarcastically.

I start walking down the street, I pass the park. No one there. I continue on until I arrive at the street David told me to turn on to. Before I know it, I'm at his house. I walk up to the door, and reach for the doorbell.

Abruptly, the door opens. I gasp and back away, to find a surprisingly undressed David.

"Nice boxers" I say and tug at the waistband.

He looks down at the white boxers with broken hearts on them, and shrugs.

"C'mon in."

He makes a grand sweeping gesture as I enter and close the door behind me. The household I find myself in seems bare and unlived in. We pass through immaculately clean rooms to stop at a door with "Va Chiez!" written in bold red letters across it. He pushes the door open, and reveals his sanctuary.

The white walls are plastered with posters of all sorts of bands. Everything from Montreal's very own GrimSkunk, too America's No Doubt. Just like my room, he has piles of junk strewn on every possibly surface, except his bed, which is devoid of any object but a sheet and a pillow.

I sit down there while he begins to sift through the many items on his desk.

"Aha!" He calls triumphantly.

To my great amusement, he pulls out eyeliner and a small mirror. As he struggles to hold both, I get up from my seat, and hold the looking glass for him. He smiles gratefully at me and proceeds to apply massive amounts of makeup. 

As he finishes, I begin to withdraw the hand holding the mirror, bur he grabs by hand and holds it firmly in place. Startled, I follow the direction of his gaze, he is transfixed by the sight of my two new lacerations.

He takes the mirror away from me and tosses it, as well as the eyeliner, on to the overly crowded flour. Fortunately, they land without thud, or fissure. He yanks my partly impeding bracelet, and it accompanies his objects on the carpet.

Still captivated, he slowly scratches the partially healed wounds. He then languidly brings my wrist to his lips, he then lightly runs his tongue over them, making me quell inside.

Just as I am about to close my eyes, he releases me, and reaches for a kitchen knife and a lighter from under his bed. He sluggishly passes the flame around the knife, taunting me. Then, dropping the lighter, he grabs me and presses his lips to mine.

I run my tongue over his teeth, tasting the remains of my blood as the sweet coppery taste scintillates my taste buds. He breaks away from the kiss, and pulls me towards the bed, where he leans back on the pillow. I straddle him, and he hands me the knife.

"Cut me" he hisses.

Obligingly, I press the knife to the skin right under his left collarbone. He moans, as I begin to suck avidly at the flow of blood. His blood tastes different from mine, less sweet and more metallic, but I love the sensation. Taking the knife away from me and pushing me away, he pulls my shirt over my head. He at that point, he cuts my right shoulder, and latches on to that ebb of life.

As the flow slows, I pull his head towards my own in a swift gesture, our lips press hungrily one against the other, on a quest for blood. Our tongues meet, and we clasp to each other for dear life.

Without warning, the shrill sound of a phone ringing is heard from down the hall, startled, I recoil away from David. The phone continues to ring, as we stare intensely at each other. A clicking noise is heard, and soon Chucks voice assaults us from what seems to be an infinite distance away.

"Salut, David, c'est moi. J'sais qu'y est vraiment tôt, mais tu me manquais. J'ai rêvé à toi hier soir." (=Hey David, it's me. I know it's real early, but I missed you. I dreamt of you last night.) He said, and chuckled mischievously. "Appelle-moi, j'te contrerait ça en _long_ et en _large _(Call me, I'll tell you about it in great detail) (-*-a/n it's funnier in French. -*-)

David looks away, ashamed of himself. Ashamed of me. He tugs at his lip, a worried frown spreading to his face. I can't help but want to run away as far as my weak legs will take me. I slowly stand to my feet and wipe my mouth with the back of my hand.

The blood I see there sickens me, reminding me of things just past. The answering machine clicks off as I search for my belongings. David calls out in a pathetic attempt to retain me at his side, but it is more of a whimpering apology then a plead to stay. Unmoving, he stares at the phone, unblinkingly.

I put my shirt back on, replace my mussed hair, and look about me for something I feel I must be forgetting. He mumbles something about disinfecting and point towards the bathroom. Once there, I find it to be an empty cold place, devoid of welcome. I open the cabinet over the sink, and find compulsively neat toiletries.

I grab the peroxide and a Q-tip. I drench it in the liquid and pull down my shirt to reveal my shoulder blade to my reflection. I dab at my faintly trickling wound, relishing the feeling of it eating at not only bacteria, but also my skin. The tingling burn slowly fades into nothingness.

I feel terribly alone. I head back towards David's room, desperate for some human contact. I enter, he's still staring at the phone, with the same expression of regret and remorse playing across is face.

"I,,," He begins, unsure of what to say, or how to say it. "I want to remind you that I'm gay. And that"

"I get it." I say sharply, cutting him off.

I leave the room without another look, without another word. I show myself to the door, and let myself out. I slowly breathe the warm summer air, trying to calm my rapidly beating heart.

As usual, I'm a mistake. Since my birth I've been ruining not only my life but others' as well. Oh God! If Pierre finds out but he won't. He can't. David can't tell Pierre anymore then I can tell Chuck. We're all inter connected now.

I was hoping that finally I wouldn't be so alone. That some one would be able to understand. I was wrong. As always. I've got to find someone to talk to. Anybody.I walk down the street, avoiding eye contact, wishing that I feel loved. I hurry my pace, wanting to escape the stares of the ignorant people snickering around me.

I begin to run, unable to stop myself, wanting to run so fast that the world disappears. Suddenly, an obstacle is lain in my path. Powerless to move out of the way, I run headfirst into someone. To my great astonishment, the person takes me in their arms.

"There, there." They coo softly.

I look up, and find myself staring at Pierre's concerned countenance. He wipes away the tears I had not known were running down my face with his thumbs, then lightly kisses the area just below my eyes. I cling to him, like any abandoned creature would. Don't let go of me, what ever you do, don't go away. 

He doesn't push me away, yet he puts more distance between us, he turns me towards to awkwardly smiling adults who try to seem unfazed by the event.

"Maman, Papa, j'vous présente Helen, ma blonde." (=Mom, dad, I'd like to introduce you to Helen, my girlfriend.

"Je suis contente de faire ta conaissance." (=I'm glad to meet you) said his mother.

"Bonjour." I reply timidly, trying to hide my strong emotions, but abruptly I can't help but glow with pleasure. He had called me his girlfriend. His father took out a twenty-dollar bill from his pocket and handed to his son.

"Allez vous amusez, les jeunes." (= Go enjoy yourselves, kids.)

Ignoring his wife's protestations, he drags her into the nearest store, leaving me staring at my feet, and Pierre blushing madly.

Pierre sheepishly takes my hand in his, sending a jolt of ecstasy throughout my body. I try to capture his attention, but he seems to be enchanted by the people walking on the other side of the street, or pretending to be.

I feel tears begin to trickle once more, as I realize that to Pierre, I'm not a mistake. I'm a treasure. Happy beyond belief, I can't resist pulling him towards me. Puzzled, he looks into my eyes, and sees the unconditional bliss there. Before he can utter a word, a tilt my head towards him, and press his lips with my own.

He shudders with barely contained desire. He puts his arms around my waist, holding me closer still. I run my fingers through his perfectly styled hair, enjoying the sensation of his teeth gently nibbling on my lips.

I deepen the kiss, blessedly unaware of anything, or anyone around me. I stroke his tongue with my own sending waves of tingling heat ravaging through my body. I then remember that I had been doing the very same thing with David, minutes before. Agitated, I can't help but end the kiss, in a manner both abrupt and unsatisfactory. 

Once again, he looks at me questioningly, but thinks better of talking to me of private things in a public place. As we pass by the store where his parents swept in, he waves at his mother who had been standing in the window. The glazed over look of shock on her face leaves us no doubt to how long she's standing there.

As we walked down in the street hand in hand, I feel that he's taking me to somewhere he hopes I'll feel safe, somewhere he loves to be. He puts an arm around my shoulder, pulling me tight as we walk down the busy street. We turn the corner, and arrive in front of a movie store, where he stops me.

"Here?" I ask, somewhat surprised.

"Hmmuhmmm." He whispers lazily in my ear.

He takes me by the hand once more, and pulls me in behind him. At the counter, I see a surprised looking teenager.

"Salut, Pierre." (=Hey, Pierre.) He says

"Allô, man." (=Hey, man)

"On va aller dans le sous-sol, ok, Seb?" (=We're gonna go in the basement, ok, Seb?)

"Ouais, ouais. Comme tu veux." (Yeah, yeah. Whatever.)

Seb then picked up the magazine he had been reading, and pretending not to stare at us while we made out way to the back of the store. We passed an industrial quantity (-*- a/n for any one who's seen the Videotron commercials "Des tonnes de copies!") of movies, before arriving to a bead curtain, he pushes it aside, and leads me down the stairs all the while telling me that he works here 3 days a week and the rest of the time hangs out in the basement.

I arrive at the bottom of the steps, and look around in amazement. The room is incredible, there's simply no other word for it. There's a drum set in the back of the room, amplifiers all over, and junk all over the place. Instantly I feel at home here.

He sits me down on the couch, which is a little ways back from the rest of the room and faces away from the stairs we came down. I have a good overview of the room from here. They've got a table, a mini-fridge, and posters covering almost every inch of wall space.

"We have band practice here."

"I didn't know you were in a band."

"David and Chuck are in it too. So is Seb. We used to be in a band called Reset, but now we're in Simple Plan."

"Simple Plan? That's rather catchy." I say and grab at his sweatshirt for emphasis. He takes my hands in his own, and looks at me, concern visible in his eyes. Unsettled by the intensity of his stare, I lower my gaze to our intertwined fingers.

"Why were you crying?" He inquires softly.

"I felt alone." I answer truthfully.

He sighs, sensing that their lies more beneath he surface, but not wanting to push things just yet. He untangles his fingers from my own, and for the second time today, brings my fingers to his lips, gently brushing each of my fingers to his lips.

"Have a finger fetish?" I ask, and tweak his nose.

"Your hands are just so beautiful long and thin I can't help myself." He then begins to kiss my knuckles tickling them with his tongue.

At that moment, I realize that I'm not wearing my bracelet (-*-a/n Thanks to fanficjunkie for pointing out that I didn't mention it earlier, and allowing me to use it!-*-) , and at the rate things are going Pierre is likely to kiss my wrists. He can't know!

I rip my hands away more quickly then intended startling Pierre out of his reverie. He blushes then mumbles an apology. Devastated, I try and repair the damage I've done. 

"Sorry. It tickled" I add lamely.

Accepting it as the only answer he's going to receives and shrugs slightly. I bring my lips to his, but he remains unmoving and displeased. I sit back, and stare at him, desperately searching for a way to fix this mess.

A sad smile comes to his face, he feels rejected by me. I have to do something! Suddenly, an idea hits me, fallen from the sky.

"I've never hmmm You are the first guy I've ever kissed, and I'm kind of nervous I didn't mean to jerk away I was just startled by the intensity."

Pierre sighed, but once again he didn't want to push me into revealing things that I was not ready to tell. He pats me on the knee, and takes my hand in his own. 

"You ican/i trust me, you know."

"I I know." I reply, and squeeze his hand. "Give me time." I add.

He nods his head. He can't change what I am, unfortunately, and he doesn't even know that he's trying to. I shake my head in frustration, and he kisses my temple, oh so gently, oh so softly, sending shivers down my spine. He holds me close, and before I realize what I'm doing, I let my tears slowly drip down, and cling to him for dear life. 

"I can't trust myself around you." I say through my tears.

"You don't have to."

I close my eyes, and let him gently kiss me cheeks, ridding my face of tears. I open them, and stare into his, noting all the care and tenderness I see there.

Abruptly, the beads at the top of the stairs rustle noisily and equally loud stomps descend the stairs. I grin impishly at Pierre, push him down on the couch, and sprawl on top of him, trying to stifle a giggle. The look on his face is one of indecision, he seems to be hesitating between taking advantage of the situation, and going along with me. 

The footsteps on the stair cease. I'm certain that the person there is scanning the room. He continues down, then clears his throat to inform us of his presence. Instantaneously, I sit up, attempting to blush madly and look embarrassed. I look down at Pierre, who hastily tousles his hair, then sits up a smug expression on his face.

"J'peux t'aider, Seb?" (=Can I help you, Seb?) Pierre inquired.

"Ben j'viens juste chercher une boîte, ça va juste être trois secondes" (=Well I just came down to get a boxit'll just take three seconds.) He replies, anxiously.

After fidgeting in place for a couple of seconds, he rapidly walks towards the box aforementioned, picks it up and heads back towards the stairs. Just as he sets his foot on the first step, Pierre calls out "Next time, try and make more noise!", making fun of him. Red as a beet, he ignored the comment and went up the stairs. 

As the beads swished behind Seb, we both burst into an uncontrollable fit of laughter. After a short while, our chuckles quiet, then cease. I get up and look at the nearest wall, where a poster mesmerizes me. I walk to get a closer look, and there I see a stunning reproduction of a black and white flower, with the name M.C. Escher printed neatly at the bottom.

I feel my heart begin to pound against my rib cage, and my breath catches in my throat. I can't help and stare in amazement, at this work by one of my favorite artists.

"It must be from 1920 1921 maybe." I mutter to myself

Intrigued by my excitement, Pierre comes to see what I'm staring so intently at. He looks from the replica to me, and then back again.

"You've heard of this guy?" He asks, and points his thumb at the picture. "David brought it in" I can't help but turn towards him, amused and a little worried at his words. "He brought in that one too, he said pointing at a duplicate of Rousseau's "La Charmeuse de Serpents".

The second poster simply mesmerizes me. I'm not a great fan of Rousseau, but this painting as always held me captivated. Absent-mindedly, I stroke at my now barely perceptible cut as I think of all the things that David and I have in common.

Inflamed Pierre came and stood behind me. I could feel his warm breath curling about the base of my skull. He lightly runs his finger up my spine, vertebrae after vertebrae. I stare at the painting lost in its dark beauty, as he ever so delicately places his soft lips in the crook of my neck.

He lingers lazily there, before gently sliding down to my shoulder. As he gasps, I tear my gaze away from the work of art I had been contemplating and look at him. He's staring down at the cut that David had given me less then an hour ago.

"How'd you get that?" he asked hoarsely. 

"I uh" I try and find a good excuse before he realizes what kind of a person I really am, the kind of person he could never be with. Could never love. Could never talk to.

"Where did you go after I left?" he demanded.

"I didn't"

"Just tell me who did this to you, I want to keep you safe!"

"No one"

He grabs me in a bear hug, and I can feel his heart racing next to mine. He's panting and quivering all over, as if he's been in a race. I realize now, that he's scared. He's worried about me.

"Who?" He asks again.

"No one"

He holds me at arm length, and looks deep into my eyes, wrenching at my soul.

"WHO?" He yells, shaking me. "TELL ME!"

No longer able to contain myself, I whisper out "David." as he lets his arms fall to his sides. Stricken with doubt. Doubting me, doubting his friend. I shake my head at this whole situation, wishing it gone. But, alas, it will not disappear on my account. 

"It's not what you think" I try and assert. 

"Just give me a sec." He sits down on the couch and I follow, cautiously this time, keeping my distance. He begins to mutter French curse words under his breath, I manage to catch a "Calice de tabarnacle" before his words slur once more.

He sighs, deeply, painfully, and looks at me, begging an explanation. I look anywhere but at him. I don't want to lie to him more then I already have. The silence becomes unbearable, as the unspoken tension rises to newfound peaks.

At last, I manage to murmur "Don't do anything to him.", to his great despair. I can see it well in his eyes. 

"I wouldn't have asked you out this morning if I had known about you guys." He states, slashing my heart to ribbons. "How long have you two been going out?" He inquires quietly.

"Pierre we aren't going out. I met him yesterday It's nothing like that, seriously. Just please don't ask me to tell youI can't yet."

"Helen, you can't"

"Please, Pierre!" 

"How can you expect me to trust you, when you won't tell me anything!"

"The same way you ask me to trust you."

He throws his hands in the air, and yells in exasperation. It's at that moment that I know that he'll do as I ask.

"I won't speak a word of this, I promise." I'm about to through myself at him, when he says. "On one condition, next time he even looks at you strangely, I kick is ass."

I smile at him, glad for his simplicity, his trust, his protection, his confidence. He senses my inner turmoil, and holds me against him once more, less violently this time. Nonetheless, the emotions motivating his actions are just as strong, if not more so.

"Let's watch a movie." He suggests, and points at the battered TV and VCR. Hand in hand, we go up the steps. At the top, I playfully toss a strand of beads at him, making him dodge, then pull me into his arms once again.

"I win." He says. I'm about to riposte, when I hear a worried voice from near-by. 

"Helen?"


End file.
